Regrets
by Liriell
Summary: Regret is an emotion so painful that we do not wish for others to experience the same. In Henry's case, it becomes even more painful, knowing that he was her regret.


**Title: **Regrets

**A/N: **This story was inspired by **_Plot Bunny #197, posted by X5 - 452 and 494_**. At first, I intended to make this a chapter story, however, I did not have the time to put so much effort into this, not least because of school. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one-shot.

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><p>There is the reason as to why parents always tell us to be careful at what we are doing, to guard ourselves and to follow our hearts. They hope that we would never do the wrong thing, so that we would never feel the horrible feeling called regret, an emotion so painful that we do not wish for others to experience the same.<p>

But the truth is this cannot be prevented. Regrets are bound to happen, since it is in the man's nature to make mistakes and only as mankind dies, so will the regrets. More often than not, the regret we have is over our own action, which leads to consequences we later on wished wouldn't have happened. We would wish for the ability to turn back time and change the way we acted, in hope that the outcome would be different. Another thing that can be noted is that the consequence takes form in the loss.

Be it a father, who abused his family for his own ambitions, used them as pawns in the sick game of power and single-handily pushed them into death's arms.

Be it a woman, who abandoned her own true love for power, foolishly thinking this was the right choice and turning out to be wrong.

Be it a lady, abandoning her virtues in order to do what she thought was right and on the way, causing the death of innocents.

Or maybe an adult or even a child, who had neglected to tell the beloved person of his adoration and gratitude, until it was too late.

Each kind of scenario represents a loss, the loss of beloved children, and the loss of the man she loved, the loss of innocence and sometimes, it is the loss of chances of saying what is in your heart.

In the end, we promise ourselves, if we ever get a chance to make things right again, we would do it. We promise before God that we would appreciate what is given to us this time if only for one moment of reparation.

King Henry VIII was a proud man and it would hurt the pride of the Kind of England to admit, that he was ever wrong, hence, he did not have many regrets in his life. However, lately, he realizes that he had to face the truth. And the truth was that Henry had a lot of regrets. He was nowhere near the man he had once promised himself to be, when he was young. He wasn't the respectable man his mother hand wanted him to become. And he did not keep the promises he made and vowed would not break them.

And maybe that was his biggest mistake, his biggest regret.

What kind of promises had he not already made? Promises of love, of faithfulness and trust were made and of never breaking them. He could even remember the promise, that she would not regret ever marrying him. Was he able to keep the last? Probably not.

But even now he could not try to rectify his mistakes. In some eyes, it would seem as if God had given him another chance, but in Henry's it was just torture for the pain he had caused her. It was taunting him, the woman he loved and sought to love again, with whom he wanted to share whatever lovers did and knowing that this was not possible. For she was dead, a ghost, something literally beyond his reach.

He wanted to intertwine his fingers with hers, kiss her soft skin and hold her in his embrace. But alas, they could not.

And so, he starred up to the ceiling, while she was lying next to him, propping on her elbow and watching him.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him.

"Repentance."

They did not explore the discussion furthermore, for she knew what he was thinking about right now and he knew that she would not want to approach it now... or ever.

"We should be content for what is given to us." she scolded in a soft whisper.

"And what is it that is given to us?" he scoffed and turned to her. She looked into his eyes, her lips pulled into a thin line.

"Time." she answered after a while. "Time, this is what we have. And if I daresay, it is by far more than what others are given." He did not look happy with her response. "Why can't you see the gift that God granted us?"

"This is not a gift, it is torture!" Her eyes were cold; they did not betray her emotion.

"Where is the difference?" she turned her back to him and stood up from the bed.

"Anne, where are you going?" he asked her, following her example by rising from the bed as well.

"I want to be alone for a while." she answered. "And your majesty, if I may advise you, please try to remain quiet. It would be very unwise if one of your servants was to catch you in your rage, talking, shouting at nothing and referring to your deceased mistress and even more if it does not turn out to be a servant, but your _beloved_ Queen."

He wanted to shout her name, however, he did not do so. Her words had left him speechless. Instead he slammed his fist into the wall.

* * *

><p>"Anne, please, don't run too fast." the woman scolded.<p>

Anne watched the woman chase after her. They seemed so content. She had watched them over time, she had seen them dance joyfully on the fields, laugh without giving any thoughts and seen them in embrace with each other, close and full of love, like only mother and daughter could.

Today was no different. It was just another day without grey clouds on their sky and full of serenity. Without regrets...

It was funny, if Anne decided to give them any thoughts, they were all children of Thomas Boleyn, they had been pawns for him to use. Mary had suffered greatly in her girlhood for the ambition of her father and she was the least accomplished one out of the three. At one time, Anne thought that she was the one with the greatest regrets, the greatest misgivings, but that time had been long ago, it was when she was still blinded by the love she bore for him, by her own arrogance and greed, added with that of her father's.

Pride goes before the fall.

And now, when their brother was lying buried deep in the ground, their father banished from Court and stripped from all the titles, which he gained and got taken from him in a blink of an eye, and she herself, walking on earth as a mere ghost, undead and yet among the livings, destined to never find her peace, Anne thought that maybe Mary had been the wisest one of them. After all, Mary had outlived them all, well besides her father, though it was questionable whether the life he was leading was worth living. And Mary had a family of her own; the very one Anne had damned her for.

"Anne!" she shouted.

For a moment, Anne thought that Mary was shouting for her, as she was running towards her, but the moment her sister ran pass her, she knew it was just her imagination. She wasn't calling for her, why would she. She was calling for her daughter, whom she named after her sister. She turned around and watched both, mother and daughter.

"Mama." The small girl smiled and climbed down the tree. Mary, whose eyes showed worry, let out a sigh, when her daughter's feet met the grounds again.

"Anne, don't do this again. You had me so worried." Mary proclaimed.

"But mama, I was only climbing up the tree. I am fine, see." Her mother sighed and pulled the leafs out of her daughter's hair. A man appeared behind the both of them; a wide smile was put on his face, as he pulled both women into his arms. They all laughed so heartily. From what she concluded, this was the man Mary married. William Stafford, her brother-in-law.

"Annie, why don't you go back and clean yourself, before dinner begins." he said and Anne nodded, before disappearing into their residence.

"She is right, you know, she had not got hurt. Have you never climbed up the trees when you were a child?" he asked his wife, with his arm still around her waist.

"No... I never did. The governess always told me that as a girl I am not allowed to do such things... though it never kept Anne or George from doing so..." Mary turned silent afterwards. Her husband seemed to have noticed it, Anne saw how his eyes clouded with pity and she saw his hold on her tighten. "She did not care what people thought of her, even when she was a child, she was independent and stubborn and so strong." she sighed and closed her eyes.

William saw how troubled his wife was at the mere thought of her deceased sister, despite the time that had passed since the execution of the late Queen.

"It's okay." he whispered to her. "She loved you."

"Did she?" Mary asked. "Did she really love me? We did not part on the best terms, nor was I there for her when she needed me the most, when she needed someone to comfort her. What if she hated me, when she died?" He did react to her statement and Anne wished for him to do exactly this, to tell her that she was not mad at Mary, and reassure her that Anne still loved her sister.

"Mary, there was a letter I wanted to give you. It was-" he took the letter out and held it in front of her. Mary blinked a few times, trying to shut her tears away. She took the letter from his hand and examined them.

Anne tried to get a glimpse of the letter, which Mary was holding in her hands. She noted that her hands trembled as her eyes flew across the words.

"It's his." Mary said. Her expression turned blank, before anger made its place in them and her hands ripped the letter into million little parts.

"Mary-"

"No, William. I don't want to know what he is writing, nor will I want to reply to him." she stated furiously. Anne wondered what could have enraged her so much to turn the sad woman into such a fury. "He does not deserve that."

"He is still your father."

"My father, along with the rest of my family died on that dreadful May a year ago. My brother was sent to heaven on the 17th and my sister followed him two days after and my father died along them as far as it concerns me."

"You will regret it." He foretold her.

"This is where you are wrong. There are a few things I regret. When my father pushed Anne into the King's arms, yet knowing that she would be hurt someday and still did nothing to protect her as an older sister should or when I did nothing to save them or at least to see them one last time, but I will not regret cutting my ties from that man. He is the reason why George and Anne had to die, if not for him and his greed for more, Anne would not have become Queen of England and she would not be dead now, she might be married today with children she would love to raise, George would not have married a woman he despised, just for power and status. We would be a family, they would be still alive. I hate him for doing this to our family; I despise him for not standing up."

"Mary." he pulled her to his chest, while she cried into his chest.

"I can't forgive him. I just can't, why won't you see this? I can't forget what he had taken from us, too much had happened. I can only forgive him if he can give me my brother and sister back and we both know that this is never going happen." she cried.

Anne had seen enough.

She decided to go back to the palace.

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><p>Henry had had a tiring day behind him. There were problems concerning the Rebellion caused by the English Roman Catholics, he had spent almost the whole midday discussing this matter during the Privy Council. But what had really occupied his mind, more than the matter of the rebellions, was Anne.<p>

He had not seen her since the morning, when she claimed to want to be alone for the while. Usually, she would get bored in fast time. There were times when she would sneak into their meetings, knowing that no one besides Henry was aware of her presence and that he had no other choice, but to tolerate her presence, since he could neither drag her out nor demand her to leave in front of his men. But today, she shone in her absence.

And now that the meeting had finally ended, he made his way to his apartment, hoping to encounter her in his chamber and waiting there for him. But when he opened his doors, he found nothing besides the usual decoration and furniture. She was not there. He had searched almost through the entire palace, but she was not to be found.

It was frustrating.

He tried not to think about her, he tried to bury himself into his duties as a king, but try as he might, she was never far from his mind.

"What is causing you such a distress?"

"Can't you guess." he asked in resent and looked up.

"I see. Your emotion has gotten the better of you again and now you are mad at me for whatever reasons. Be reasonable for once and try not to blame it on others, will you." How dare she to accuse him of being the one who was at fault, when it was her who was acting childish and unreasonable? He looked up, with fury in his eyes, ready to put her in her place but at the sight of her, he halted. Not because she looked tired, not because of the look she was giving him, but because of her eyes.

They were glassy and swollen, as though she had been crying.

"Where have you been?" he asked instead.

"Why does it matter?" she asked and turned away. A part of her was wondering why she had chosen to go to this place, she did not want him to see her in this pathetic state, but another part of her wanted to be with him, even if risking exposing herself in front of him. For the moment, she just did not want to be alone; she needed company, even if it was his.

"Anne..."

"What?" she asked in a snapping tone.

"Tell me."

"What if I tell you? Where is the use to it? What can you do? The answer is **nothing**; nothing will change, even if I tell you." she snapped at him.

"I can-"

"No you can't." she said and smiled bitterly. "You know, you are so arrogant in your thinking. You believe that since you are the high and mighty King of England, you can do anything. Your assuming behavior is unbelievable. Let me tell you something Henry, there is something that even you cannot accomplish. Like bringing dead people back to life, if you can do that, than I will gladly accept your help, but you **can't**. You may be able to take lives, but you cannot give them back! You are not God!" They both looked at each other, none of them said anything.

The moment the words left her mouth, Anne regretted them. She knew how touchy this topic was for him, she knew that he regretted what had been done. She saw it every time he looked at her, but she just couldn't control her mouth once she opened it.

"I, I am sorry." she said after some time. He did not reply. "Henry, I am sorry. I didn't mean them." They both knew she did.

"Where have you been?" he asked.

"… Mary." she answered in a defeated voice. She hated it whenever they were stuck in situation like this, when one of them have to give up on their pride and let the other in when they do not want to.

Silence rose between them. They were both silent, both lost in their thoughts. He was busy thinking of a way to lighten up the situation, she on the other hand, wondering in her heart what kind of relationship they shared.

"I envy my sister." She told him, her voice penetrating the silence. "I always felt that the ambitions of my father had ruined us all, but Mary proved me wrong. She was able to build a life on her own, a wonderful life. They are not rich, but they are content with their lives, they are happy and she leads a wonderful life with her family. Everything was so… _simple_."

She had long forgotten what simplicity was, until she had seen them.

"It was weird. It made me think, that this could have been me, who was chasing her daughter down the field and scolding her for climbing up trees and doing everything a family does. I long for the life she leads and I cannot stop imagining how wonderful such a life would be."

"Anne-"

"She received a letter from my father." she said and paused, before she continued. She had already decided to reveal her motives and thoughts, so why not let everything out and behind her. "She ripped it apart, saying that she hated him for tearing us all apart, she blamed him partly for our deaths. She said that she missed us, me and George. She wished she could have said goodbye, she never forgave herself for not being there. When she cried, I wanted to comfort her and take her in my arms, like we were children again, you know. I wanted so much to tell her that I forgave her, I don't blame her, and it had been dangerous for her to come, since..." _since she would have courted the wrath of the King._

"But the thing is I could not. I could not take her in my arms; I could not tell her that I was not angry at her. And I couldn't beg her for forgiveness for sending her away, instead of supporting her like a sister should have done. This was always my regret; I wished I could have at least parted from the world on good terms with her. And there are so many other things I want to tell her." She looked up and her eyes met his. "Like that I am so damn proud of her, for making the right decision, that she is happily leading the life I abandoned and that I love her and envy her. Today, I had seen her, every small touch and every time she stroked the cheek of her daughter, I felt envy. I wanted to be able to do that, too. Like every mother, I just want to dote on my daughter, show her how much I love her, but alas I cannot. The state I am in, prevent me from doing any of this. My daughter was only three if not two when I parted from this world, how can she remember who I had been when I was so obsessed with my problems, focusing on an imaginary child I yearned for, thus causing me to neglect her in the little life I had left? She has nothing to remember me by, and she will probably not even remember how I look like."

At this point, her tears were flowing down her cheeks, her blue watered eyes shining in agony, causing his own heart to break. He knew how she must feel right now. To want to embrace something, touch someone, comforting them, but knowing he could not, for she did not belong here.

She was just a ghost.

So instead of taking her in his arms and trying to offer her a solace, as a man, who lost his heart to the woman, whom he owed so much, the only thing he could do was sit and watch.

There are so many people out there in the world, who have their regrets.

Be it a sister, who tries to cope with the loss of her family and wishing she had said goodbye.

Be it a mother, who has taken granted her daughter and now lost the chance of ever being able to spend time with her.

Or be it a man, who lost the woman he loved to death, because of his own foolishness.

Either way, no matter how much we wish for a second chance, to be able to undo our mistakes, it won't happen. We are left to cope with them, the feeling of hurt never leaving, merely wavering, in our heart and knowing we lost something precious. And we condemn ourselves for being so stupid and keep on wishing for the impossible.


End file.
